


Blood on My Name

by My_Dear_Watson



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: An Angstlord and a Drama King get stuck in a bunker, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Dear_Watson/pseuds/My_Dear_Watson
Summary: Down-on-his-luck Deputy Lyons was convinced that John Seed was going to make him atone if it was the last thing he ever did. He's determined to fight the man tooth and nail to prevent it. But when the Collapse comes early and forces the pair into a bunker alone for the foreseeable future,  beliefs get tested. He just doesn't know it's not only just his beliefs.





	1. Chapter 1

The world ended on a Tuesday.

All things considered, the fact that it wasn’t the _worst_ Tuesday of Grant Lyons’ life said _a lot._

Even when John Fucking Seed had called him to the church in Falls End as a last resort to say “yes” it had been a standard day in the county. Being threatened and almost dying was commonplace by then.

Listening to the man wax poetic while scratching ‘Pride’ into his chest was… well, expected and not surprising. It was funny in a morbid way. John ruled him as Pride just for fighting to say no so adamantly when outside of their conflict, Grant hated himself. He was probably the least prideful man in the county- a polar opposite to the man straddling him, because apparently the bastard lived by making all his actions have a sexual overtone.

Then Jerome had saved them all with a swap, there had been a gunfight, and then a dogfight, and then a fistfight, because he and John were nothing if not determined to end the conflict one way or another.

And then the Universe ended it for them.

Grant had thrown himself at John, a last ditch effort to get the man down and out. It was supposed to be a foolproof plan- Grant was nearly twice the man’s size across, there was literally no chance it would go sideways… until it did. Literally.

Mid- launch, a pressure Grant hadn’t felt anything like in years had hit him and John and sent them both sprawling to the ground.

_Grant opened his eyes. The county was suddenly gone, a deserted desert town in its place. It was an absolute warzone. Rubble from the explosion had kicked up a bright, tan cloud; a complete contrast to the bright blue sky above. His heart thrummed in his chest- no, no, no- he looked up frantically- which in his case was just further along the ground to where Carter, Miller and Thames were- or what was left of them and their gear were, anyway. “NO!” he bolted upright. It had been a fucking trap. They were dead and it was his fault. He had known that something was wrong and he had kept it up. He lifted his head again, just in time to see more gunmen pouring out of an alley. He was as good as dead, might as well accept it. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable._

_And then nothing came._

_He risked opening his eyes- only to find himself staring into familiar ones. John’s. He squinted- John wasn’t supposed to be there-_

And then the ruins faded around him, replaced by a paler sky with green trees and mountains and- Hope County. He wasn’t… back there, he was in Hope County.

And there had been an explosion. A strong one.  It was too strong to be an ordinary one.

There was suddenly the unmistakable feeling of someone punching him in the face, and he went to scowl at John until his eyes caught a weird shape just beyond his eyeline- he looked to investigate-

It was a mushroom cloud. It had been a _nuclear explosion._

Joseph was right.  Joseph was _fucking right._

Grant’s chest tightened. What had happened? If Joseph was right and Grant remembered his old religion classes, weren’t there more seals to break before the End came? Weren’t the siblings seals? If John was alive, how in the Hell had this happened?

His head rattled when there was a second time when John punched him again. He felt the man haul him up by his shirt lapels and locked eyes with him.

“You back with me now?!” John demanded.

“Wha-”

John merely snarled at him and then pulled him to his feet.

Grant helped him, only to nearly get knocked down again when the rumbles of a second explosion hit.They both  looked to see another explosion happening just beyond the mountains.

“There’s a bunker not far from here, that’s our best bet if we want to get to safety,” John muttered.

“ ‘We’?”

John suddenly hauled him closer still.  “The Collapse got booted up, it just puts us and your Atonement on a tighter schedule.”

Grant looked up. The skies had started to go orange, the air was different, this was _it_.  Joseph was right all along. The mantra kept up in his head. They should’ve listened. 

At last, something in the back of his mind supplied. He closed his eyes, trying to will it away.

 _If only you’d listened. If only you’d listened about everything. _ “Go…” he told John. He closed his eyes. It was finally _fucking time._

He heard John say something in response but couldn’t make it over the growing roar of all the sounds of destruction. And then something hit the side of his head and he felt himself fading and gladly slipped into darkness.

* * *

 

He came to sometime later in a sea of blurred greys. _So there is an afterlife._ His head swam. Well, Hell was definitely… more solid than he had expected. Less fire and screaming. And if it wasn’t Hell, well, at least the place seemed to dark to be _Eden_. Purgatory, maybe?  His vision stirred into focus after a few seconds and he stopped short. No. It was a bunker. The cement walls and lighting were a dead giveaway. He was propped up against the wall nearest the stairwell leading up.

How the Hell had he gotten to a bunker? Had John…?

He lifted his head at the sound of two distinct rumblings. One above, one from within the bunker. The world was burning above, and his ‘rescuer’ was probably fiddling something here down below.

Christ, he couldn’t even get _dying_ right.

The sound of rumbling within the bunker stopped, replaced by a set of footsteps that grew louder and louder. Grant looked in their direction and waited until _John_ showed up in the archway between the adjacent room.

Stuck in a bunker for the Collapse with John Fucking Seed. Was this further punishment? God had abandoned him long ago, so was this some higher power’s decision- death was too kind for  him? He might’ve laughed if the realization hadn’t broken him. “Why didn’t you let me die?” he asked after a moment.

“Because I’m not done with you,” John countered, though he seemed far away.

Well, of course he did. The world had ended. Grant just expected him to be more smug about it. “That’s not good enough.”

“Because I made a promise you’d reach Atonement. But it’s clear you have no wish for redemption-”

“I don’t!” Grant snapped.

John gawked at him for a moment, and Grant took delight in the fact that he had finally rendered the man that was incapable of shutting up speechless. It was a shame all it took was the end of the world to do so.

Still, John recovered quickly. “Well, now we have all the time we need.”

Grant scoffed. “That’s what the guy in the Twilight Zone said before his glasses broke,” he mused. If only broken glasses were his problem when a nuclear bomb dropped.

John looked down. “You will reach Atonement before we reach the Gates, Deputy. That much is a promise from you to me.”

“Because your promise to Joseph about having me Atone has worked out so well already,” Grant snapped.

John scowled for a moment and he advanced on the other man until he stopped short and took a deep breath. “You’re in a bad spot, Deputy. You found out my brother is right, you don’t know where your friends are- if they yet live… it’s a hard spot to be in.”

Grant looked up at the man. That was meant to be a weapon, a stab in the heart- and it was. Sure, he hadn’t particularly been close to any of the people who had joined the Resistance, but he still cared. But John was in no place to talk. His family was still out there- well, the single brother that still remained in his family, courtesy of Grant himself. “Fuck you, Seed.”

John scoffed. “You’ll thank me for this someday, Deputy. Mark my words.”

Grant yanked the collar of his shirt down. “You already did that enough for both of us” he mused. He fixed his collar, then looked away. Silence passed for a while. Grant finally broke it. “”You should’ve let me die.”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot more sinning to atone for than I thought you did.”

“You can say that,” Grant replied.

John sighed. “Sometimes death isn’t enough to make up for it, you know.”

That was an… _odd_ thing to say. “Well, I would’ve loved to check, but you robbed me of that opportunity.”

John watched him for a while, and when Grant finally couldn’t keep up looking him in the eye, he broke eye contact first- though Grant was perfectly happy to stare at the floor again. “Get some rest, Deputy. We’ll need it in the… years to come.” It was the first time John sounded uncertain and scared, so Grant took it as a victory.

Grant grunted. He had forgotten about that possibility. Joseph claimed God would salt the Earth for seven years. If he was right about the end, he was probably right about the seven years. And now he had John as a companion. He had half a mind to go find some weapon in the place to off himself. But no, he was better than that. But no, he wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t do it. His friends didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t do that to him, regardless of what he deserved. And then the other questions piled on. Were there survivors? Whose bunker was this? Was it equipped for two people? He set his jaw. John could figure that out. And he liked the sound of his voice enough that he’d come and tell him later. How long had they been exposed to that radiation? Was it lethal? Were methods of treating it inside? His head spun and he squeezed his eyes shut to combat it; anything to distract himself. The world had fucking ended in nuclear annihilation. Joseph was right. He needed to focus on coming to terms with that, first. Then he could consider the rest.

It was going to be a long seven years.

  
  



	2. The Devil You Know

_As far as people went, Grant didn’t mind Darren Miller. Grant had a good eight years on him and the kid was about as immature as you could get going into his first combat tour, but he knew when to shut the fuck up, and he knew how to watch everybody’s backs in a tricky situation._

_He sat across from him in the helicopter as they headed for their next mission. Darren had been telling the others about his plans for the next time they got shipped home, and seeing his mother in particular.  “Did I ever tell you that my older brother was a soldier too?”_

_Grant shook his head. He wasn’t one for chatter before they got dumped into a warzone, but the kid was still new, and if word vomiting whatever came to mind eased his nerves, so be it._

_“Yeah, was out in the Gulf War. Part of the 82nd Airborne. Mission went bad, there was some ambush. Died in it. Mom and Dad weren’t the same after that so I joined up. Felt like I owed it to my brother, you know?”_

_“Makes sense!” Grant called, though he hardly meant it. If his parents had lost one son, why would they let them risk the possibility of - no, he wouldn’t dare think that. He looked up when the helicopter rattled-_

_\---_

_Dozens of combat missions, hundreds of flights, and the only helicopter crash Grant had been in was due to the ‘quiet, safe job in rural Montana’ going to shit._

_He had lost track of how many Peggies had crawled up onto the helicopter. He knew at least two had thrown themselves into the blades above them in order to stop their ascent._

_And it had worked, judging by the fact they were plummeting to the ground. “STACE!”  he called._

_“I’M TRYING!”  came the man’s reply before the chopper spun another high-G turn and launched Grant back into his seat. He saw the ground coming up on them fast and flinched, waiting._

_But again, Death didn’t come. The helicopter crashed into the ground and slid a few feet before coming to a stop._

_Grant managed to right himself in his seat and looked to see if any of the Peggies were far behind, only for a wall of fire to come up right next to him. They needed to get out. Now. “Stace!” he repeated. He shot a look at Deputy Hudson and the Marshal beside him. “Joey! Burke!”_

_He undid his seatbelt to go assist them, but the moment he did, there were suddenly a gap in the fire and two sets of hands grabbed at his arms and yanked. He caught sight of a red cross on tan clothing out of the corner of his eye and tried to swing his head back to have it connect with one of his captor’s, but got the butt of a rifle to the back of his head for good measure. A third Peggie came up and helped the other two yank him away, and when he thrashed against them again, the rifle connected with his head a second time. He could hear the others getting pulled from the chopper and yelling protests, but they were all drowned out by the roar of the flames. Not again, not again, not again. He went to fight them off one last time and got his knees kicked out from under him and a boot in the back to pin him down. He snarled and reared up-_

_Only for a gunshot to ring out not far from his left, and some of the crowd parted._

_There was the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut and a shadow passed over Grant._

_Grant looked up in its direction and found himself looking right into the eyes of the redhead that had been with Joseph. The one who hadn’t looked particularly thrilled with the religious angles Joseph had gone on about. You and me both, pal. The Army jacket he wore probably put their reasoning for that within the same parameters._

_“Up,” the man ordered._

_Grant didn’t move and took pride in digging his knees deeper into the mud._

_The man motioned at his two captors, and Grant found himself getting yanked upright._

_The redhead advanced on him so they were toe to toe and nearly nose to nose. He looked Grant up and down and held his gaze for a while. His gaze turned near predatory. “I know that look. Too gruff to be Navy or Air Force. You Marines or Army?”_

_“Fuck you,” Grant countered._

_The other man grinned that predatory grin of his. He looked back at the two Peggies who had flanked them. “Why don’t you bring the old man and that pretty brunette over here-”_

_Grant stood up straighter. “Lay a hand on any of them and you won’t fucking live to see the next day.”_

_He grinned. “You know what…” he looked at Grant’s name patch. “Lyons? I believe you. Which is why you win, here. I ain’t gonna hurt them, or take ‘em,” he mused. “You, on the other hand…”_

_Grant could tell where that particular conversation was going, so he made sure to hold the man’s gaze as he stood before he saw one of the Peggies holding him rear back for a moment, and then the rifle connected with his head for the third time, and then there was nothing but darkness._

 

* * *

 

The first few hours in the bunker had been hauntingly quiet. By some miracle, John had left Grant alone for a while and gone off on his own. Once some of the numbness had worn off, Grant rose to his feet to look around himself. If he was stuck there for seven years, provided radiation or John didn’t kill him, he had better at least get familiar with the place.

The silver lining of the situation was that the bunker itself was just over the size of Dutch’s bunker or the Wolf’s Den. It allowed for plenty of breathing room for two people. Especially two people who had just tried to kill each other hours ago.

Worry had started to seep into Grant’s mind about the others- his own people or the ones he had met in the county. There was slim chance any of them had been prepared for this. How many of them had made it? Had any of them?  What if he and John were the last two men in the county? Hell, in the world?

He wished he hadn’t used that comeback when Addie and Sharky suggested that he should do something about John’s apparent attraction to him if they wanted to get a leg up in the war.

_John._

He hadn’t seen the younger man in at least a couple of hours, where the Hell was he? He rose from the bed in the room he had claimed for himself and went down the hallway.

The worst part about having a bunker slightly bigger than the Wolf’s Den between them- it was a maze, and sound bounced everywhere, so it took him a solid couple of minutes to pick up the right trail.

Of course,  the sight of a microphone getting thrown out of one of the doorways was a dead giveaway as well.

Grant went to approach the doorway, only for John to nearly plow into him on his mission to get the microphone again, cursing himself and the radio in the process. He caught Grant’s look. “Decided you needed company?” he asked drily.

Grant crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the radio, ignoring the question. “Are you getting anything?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

In hindsight, Grant didn’t know exactly what motivated him to grab John by the shirt and half throw him up against the opposite wall, but he supposed stress and the end of the world was excuse enough.

John looked startled and fearful for a split second, but his usual facade was back and he grinned that predatory grin yet again. “Slow down there, Pride. Have I misjudged your sin? You seem awfully wrathful…” when all he got was a snarl in response, he grew bolder and lifted his chin. “Go on, end me. But will that work out well for you? You’ll be all alone, and then who’s got the better chance of having allies on the other side of that radio? The family who’s prepared for this, or the rebellious sinners who were caught unaware?”

Grant froze. The man had a point on both counts, more so the first. There had to be surviving Resistance members. Not everyone could be gone. They could contact him. Hell, he doubted if Joseph had survived he’d leave him alone either, especially if it was a revenge run if he did end his little brother. But being alone? For seven years at the end of the world?  There was no way that was going to end well. And the whole dead body decomposing in the place for seven years would just be the icing on the Lack of Sanity cake. He let go of the other man and shoved off the wall. “Let me try,” he offered.

John arched an eyebrow at him.

Grant held his hand out. “If there are Resistance fighters, I doubt they want to hear your voice. Or maybe they’re just sick of hearing it period.”

John waited a few seconds before he walked over to the desk and handed the mic over.

Grant sat down at the desk, leaned into the microphone. “This is Deputy Lyons. We- I am broadcasting from a bunker not far from….” he paused and looked at John for support.

John mouthed ‘Doverspike.’

“Doverspike Compound. If anyone is out there, please respond. Over.”

He was met with literal radio silence. He turned through the frequencies, repeating the same message to no avail. It was the same on each station. Grant wasn’t sure which possible implication was worse- that the silence meant they were absolutely alone, or they were in a bunker that might as well have been Doverspike because their only method of communication with others was broken.

And then the fact that they were near Doverspike registered fully in his head. That was at the base of the Yes sign hill- around a minute from John’s Gate. Hell, the place was gigantic, it rightfully could have been John’s Gate.  His heart sunk. No wonder the radio was down. He looked at John. “Is this your-”

“An… overflow bunker, if you will,” John replied without missing a beat. He had probably rightfully assumed what Grant was getting at. “ We built a smaller one not far from my Gate to make sure even people that were a couple of minutes late had a chance. It was meant to hold about seventy people, if that’s your next question. So… resources shouldn’t be a problem. Unless you get greedy.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Grant deadpanned.

“Good,” John offered, almost sing-song. After a few seconds, he sighed. “Any interest in Atonement yet?”

“Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you? I never technically said ‘yes’,” Grant pointed out.

“Do you have something to confess?” John replied.

“Not at all.”

John made a facial expression that made it clear he had both expected it and yet didn’t. He bowed his head carefully. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Is that about you or me?” Grant countered.

“Both, if you’d like.”

Grant scoffed. “Is there such thing as a straight answer from you?”

“I’ve never given you anything but straight answers, Deputy,” John answered. “But if you’re so convinced I’m an awful person, fine. You need to earn truths.”

“Fine. Then you’ve got to earn a confession,” Grant fired back.

John opened his mouth to protest, but his expression went predatory again. “Never thought you’d be the type to make deals.”

“Well, it is the end of the world,” Grant replied drily.

John stared at him until he realized it was an attempt at poor situational humor. He let out a breath’s worth of laugh. “Earning truths, earning a confession. Sounds fair to me.” He extended a hand. “Shake on it?”

Grant stared at for a while. He looked John in the eye and found that that certain shine John got in his eyes during their usual exchanges was still there. The handshake was a challenge, much like any other aspect of their cat and mouse game. And he’d be even more damned than he already was if he let John win. He reached over and shook the man’s hand, trying to will the feeling that he had made a deal with the Devil out of his head.

It was undoubtedly going to bite him in the ass, but he had to make the time before it did last as long as possible.

If their wager lasted their entire time in the bunker, so be it. 


	3. If I Ever Leave This World Alive

_Grant woke one night in a cage. His entire body hurt, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t ached so much since Basic. His memory swam with varying images that blended in with his basic training days, too. Obstacle courses, running exercises- but then there was red and blood and shooting and Christ, what had he done? Why couldn’t he remember ? His hands felt drier than usual and he glanced down at them and was met with reddish brown muck on them. Was that blood, mud or both?_

_There was suddenly a bowl of something thrust under his nose and he jerked back._

_“S-s-s’okay, I’m a f-friend. It’s water,” said a gentle voice next to him._

_Grant looked at the man. He looked about as threatening as an ant, and he wasn’t wearing Peggie colors. In fact, his shirt bore a Whitetail logo- wasn’t that the mountain range in the area? He took the bowl and risked a quick cautionary sniff, and when he didn’t find anything amiss, he drank. And his throat tightened the second it went down. How long had he gone without water? How long had he been here? What was going on?_

_A shadow passed in front of them._

_“They want one of you to be strong. One of you will be strong…”_

_“N-N-Not again!” his cage-mate objected._

_Grant knew the first voice from somewhere. Once his vision cleared up, he moved the bowl so it got out of his line of sight and nearly choked on his own tongue._

_It was Staci. But it wasn’t him. It took him a solid few seconds to recognize the man. He was covered in dirt, his usual clean shaven face had stubble everywhere, he looked thinner- it was all wrong. “Stace…?” he began._

_Staci’s eyes lit up for the briefest moment, but as quick as the sheen had appeared it was gone and the dullness was back. He shrank away from Grant._

_Grant got to his feet carefully, and immediately straightened out when Jacob came around one corner and headed for him. He took Staci by the shoulder and shoved him back. “Get out of here, Peaches.”_

_From what he had seen, ‘Peaches’ set all kind of warning bells off in Grant’s head and he walked over to the bars to the cage to square up with the man. “Hey, pick on someone your own size!”_

_Jacob looked him up and down and smirked. “That just leaves you, then.”_

_“That’s what I’m getting at,” Grant countered. “Come in here, show me how tough the big man that hides behind pawns is.”_

_Jacob’s grin widened and he stepped forward._

_“Jacob,” another voice called from behind them._

_Grant’s eyes flicked towards the voice on instinct- a rookie mistake. But nothing came of it, considering the owner of the voice was Joseph. The bastard was back, looking all prim and proper in what Grant assumed was his Sunday best compared to the sans-shirt and black jeans ensemble from before._

_Jacob turned to greet the man with a forehead touch._

_Joseph pulled back after a moment, then walked over to Grant._

_Grant tried to gauge how many more steps it would take Joseph to get within reaching distance so he could reach through the bars, slam the preacher’s head into them and let his brain rattle around a while. But Joseph locked eyes with him, and just like in the church, Grant was practically hypnotized by a single look alone, staring as the man advanced on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Staci scramble behind them and bow his head in submission. Stace, what the fuck did he do to you?_

_And then Joseph was right there in his face, hands just beside his on the bars. “I know you are in pain. The lord giveth and the lord taketh, hm? But you’re not the only one to be tested. Did you know I had a wife?” he rolled up his sleeve to show the inked portrait of a woman, and poked it through the bars to show him. “So beautiful, isn’t she?”_

_Grant was gripped by the urge to take the man’s arm and break it again, but at this rate, he was as good as dead. It wasn’t just him and Jacob anymore. Other people  with assault rifles were around. He risked looking down at the offered arm and wanted to laugh. Joseph’s tattoo was on the right inner forearm. He shared the location of a hyper sentimental tattoo with a madman. Except there was no person on his arm. Just a phrase. A phrase that meant fucking nothing now. A phrase that meant betrayal, pain. A lament of a lone survivor. The Lord taketh, Joseph’s words from seconds before played in his head. Why the fuck didn’t he take me? His own tattoo itched conspiratorially with the bastard’s words. He clenched his fist to combat it. The action went unnoticed by Joseph, but judging by the sudden look at his arm Jacob caught it. Shit._

_Joseph went on. “We were pregnant with our first child. We were just babies ourselves. And I was terrified. Of becoming a father- mostly about money. She wasn’t worried. She had faith everything would work out. She always had faith.”_

_Something passed behind Joseph’s eyes at that, and Grant could already tell where this was going. He didn’t like it one bit._

_Lost in the memory, Joseph  kept talking: “One day she was going to visit a friend. There was an accident… and the Lord taketh…”   he trailed off. “They rushed me to a hospital and put me in a room with this little pink bundle stuffed with tubes and said that I had to be strong, strong because my little girl was going to live. God was looking out for our daughter. And they left me alone in a room with her. I just… stared… at my daughter. So helpless, so innocent. All she had in the world was me. A nobody from nowhere with nothing. And in that moment I knew that God was testing me. He was laying out a path before me and all I had to do was choose. So I put my hand on my little girl’s head and I leaned in and I could smell her. And we prayed together. Prayed for wisdom. Prayed for strength… and I knew.”_

_Grant didn’t like that, either._

_‘“I heard God’s plan for me. And I took the plastic tube that was taped to her angelic face and I pinched it shut” He closed his eyes and shook his head, and the fact that there seemed to be enjoyment on the man’s face horrified Grant more than the story._

_“And after a little while, her little legs began to kick and kick… and then nothing. Stillness. Release. The Lord giveth and the lord… taketh,” he took Grant’s arm and hauled him closer. “These are all parts of His test. Only have to prove that we can serve God…. no matter what He asks,” he concluded and stepped away._

_“You sure it’s God if he made you kill your infant daughter?!” Grant called. “Sounds like the Devil to me.”_

_Joseph stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head and glanced over his shoulder but remained silent. After a few seconds, he walked away._

_Jacob stepped up. Before Grant could move back, Jacob shot his hand out to keep Grant’s arm out and faced it so the light hit his arm._

_Grant flinched. Now the bastard had his answer._

_“ ‘To this, we defend’...” Jacob read the inked  ribbon curled on the other man’s arm. Another sadistic grin crossed his lips. “One of mine . No wonder you’re so good at all this.”_

_“Not one of yours,” Grant deadpanned. He wanted to clarify, to rub it in his face that they only had the Army in common and nothing more, but Jacob had already pushed his arm down and fished that damn music box out of his pocket. He unlatched it and curled the spoke._

_Something in the back of Grant’s mind set him into a panic. Little bits and pieces of memories drilled back into his mind. The violence, the blood- it was because of that._

_And then that melody bore its way into his mind._

**_Kill. Hunt. Sacrifice_. **

And then, just before he went out, Jacob stepped closer to him again. “You were made for this… literally.”

_'No. No I’m not. Not anymore. No.'_

_The protest fell on deaf ears brought on by his own body betraying him, and all he saw was red._

* * *

 

It had been two months since Grant’s and John’s arrangement. To the former’s surprise, things were… less than awful. John still actively kept to himself for the most part, communicating only when necessary or when the silence of the bunker made ghosts surface for both of them. They sought each other out for those moments, not that they’d ever admit it. They’d combat the quiet with small talk- updates about the radio that still wasn’t working, what they could have for their next meal, what books or other means of entertainment they found- anything to fill the silence. And then they’d retreat again.

The night before, Grant had found a guitar under the bed in one of the vacant rooms. He had spent most of the next day strumming it and reacquainting himself with playing. It had been far too long since he had picked one up. After a while muscle memory took over and he started strumming a song. Something about leaving the world alive’ - He didn’t remember much of it, just that it was one of Miller’s favorites. It was far too upbeat for his current situation, but maybe it was what he needed- what _they_ needed.

John had arrived to investigate after a while. To Grant’s surprise, he loitered just outside the doorway, leaning on the outer frame and listening until Grant nodded at him to come inside.

John sat on the bed opposite him. “Never would’ve taken you for a Flogging Molly fan, Deputy.”

“A what now?” Grant blanched.

John laughed. “The song. It’s… you don’t know?”

Grant gave the man credit. He sounded genuinely confused and interested rather than condescending about it. He shrugged. “Wasn’t really a big listening to music guy. A… someone I knew a long time ago liked it, got me to play it a lot.” Miller’s face the first time he had managed to play it crossed his mind and his heart ached. He shoved the guitar away like it had burned him. So much for that pastime.

John was silent for a while, thankfully picking up on the change in his demeanor. “... Maybe your friend made it to a bunker,” he offered. “Maybe not everywhere got hit.”

Grant’s heart ached again. John Seed, the bastard that he was, was trying to assure him. Or himself. The stranger part is that it might have even worked if Darren had still been around when the bombs dropped.  God, if only he knew. But no, that wasn’t his place to know. Fuck, what did he have to lose? “No that’s uh… that’s not an option for him,” he explained. There, he hadn’t given much away, but it was enough. John didn’t deserve the rest. Not yet. “Any luck with the radio?” he asked. He doubted John would take the bait for such an obvious subject change.

John paused a bit, but a knowing smile crossed his lips, but was gone a moment later. “No, still silent.”

Grant merely nodded.

John eyed him up and down for a while, but said nothing. After an awkward silence passed, he glanced up at the guitar. “May I?”

Grant looked at him and laughed weakly. John Seed, asking his permission to use something. He never thought he’d see the day. He pushed its John’s way. “It’s probably technically more yours than mine, anyway.”

John took it and strummed some melody that Grant recognized as the one he had whistled in the bunker when he had first tried to get a confession out of him. He glared at him for a while, fully expecting it to be another mind game. He wouldn’t put it past the man at all. But upon further inspection, the man had apparently gotten lost in his song as much as Grant had.

And just like Grant, John snapped out of it in seconds and pushed the guitar away.

After a bit, Grant remembered why. He had heard that song on the radio when he had been carted into one of the Project’s trucks when Jacob had taken him in. Something about meeting again, _don’t know where, don’t know when, til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away._

The Apocalypse made for some _‘dark clouds.’_  Then again, his wasn’t much better- did this count as leaving the world alive in the literal sense? “I never thought you’d be the type to play,” Grant mused- a stretch, just to get things going again.

“I wasn’t until recently. Some of my people taught me,” John explained. He scoffed. “For this exact reason. To have something to pass the time… just didn’t expect it to be so private.”

“Disappointed in your audience?” Grant teased.

“Just a little,” John countered, though he did sound like he was going along with the prodding. “I usually like them a little less troublesome… and can look me in the face when I speak.”

Grant set him with an exasperated look and went out of his way to look him in the eye. “What do you expect, after all the trouble you’ve caused?”

“We- _I_ was trying to save you. I was trying to save everyone.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Grant countered.

Their moment of bonding suddenly gone, John scowled and got up.

Grant scrambled to get up, just in case there was trouble.

John threw his hands out to his sides.  “What do you want from me? Joseph was right. I was right. The Collapse is here, what more proof do you need? Are you still so fucking blind with your own determination to hate us-”

“You’re kidding, right?”  Grant shot back. “You killed countless people.”

“And you haven’t?! We probably have the same fucking body count. Then again, you’ve probably got more. From what I heard from Jacob, you’re good at it. What’d he call it? Seemed like your purpose-"

Grant whirled on him and delivered a right hook strong enough to knock out lesser men. Of course, considering John was a cockroach of a man, it only managed to knock him back a couple of feet into the wall. He had disappointed it hadn’t done more, but when John recovered and turned to look at him, Grant saw his lip had been split. Well, at least blood had been drawn too.

John’s eyes flashed dangerously, and Grant was ready for him to lunge again. The bastard probably had a Napoleon complex, and Grant had already won in hand to hand combat multiple times now. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of trying, either. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he hissed . “Neither did your fucking madman of a brother,” he added. “And I killed him for less,” he added, just to twist the proverbial knife. If John wanted to play dirty, he’d play dirtier.

John stood silent, panting and watching him.

Grant merely brushed passed him, determined to put as much distance between them as possible. It was that or killing them man, the more he thought about it. If John tried anything, ending him would be tempting. He just wasn’t sure how being completely and utterly alone for seven years- if he chose to live that long- would go.  He headed for the furthest dorm area in the bunker. He got inside and closed and locked the door for good measure before he headed for the nearest bed in the corner.

He waited a few moments in silence, waiting for anything. He knew he could take him, but in hindsight, poking the bear, even if he had technically done it first was dangerous. Especially when the particular bear was a deranged psychopath with nothing more to lose.He didn't hear anything for a while, and Grant finally figured the coast was clear.

He got comfortable, determined to sleep at least a few hours away.

And he did.

He woke up, surprised that John hadn’t come looking for him at any point. He wasn’t knocking on the door, there wasn’t any shouting, there wasn’t a note that he wouldn’t put the man past shoving under his door, whether it was some variation of ‘fuck you’ or passive aggressively letting him know something. But there was no trace of any indication John had come by. Which… either meant John was continuing to abide by their deal, or something was wrong. Something in the back of Grant’s mind made him figure that it was the latter. He stared at the doorway for a while. No, that was giving the Universe and John’s interest in him too much credit. He could’ve just been sulking and avoiding him.

 _Christ, this might have been worse than high school. Leave it be_ , he told himself.  

But he had never listened to the voice in his head. His fucking curse of a hero complex had always made sure of that. He crossed to the door, unlocked and opened it. He poked his head out of the room and listened.

There was some faint noise coming from the other side of the area, so he followed it silently.

After a while, he recognized it as radio static. The problem being that it was continuously empty static. He made his way closer to the radio room.

Every few seconds, there was a click like a dial was being turned, and then John spoke firmly. “Joseph? Joseph, are you there?” there was silence again and the radio dial clicked. “Joseph? … Faith?” silence, and then sounding so broken and defeated that even Grant’s heart went out to him, even after their showdown hours before: “... Anybody?” John continued.

Grant drifted into the room.

Being alone at the end of the world with him, Grant had seen some of John’s vanity ween off. He had occasionally used water to keep his hair in its usual pristine style, but lately he had gone without, letting it fall as it pleased. He had still worn that damn button up, jeans and vest ensemble. But now in that moment he looked like a _wreck- more so_ than when he had left him bloodied _._ His hair was skewed, like he had been running his hands through it constantly, and the best was open and lopsided. And the shine that had been in his eyes hours ago when they had traded barbs was entirely absent. His eyes were even dull. It was… a very odd, unwelcome look on John, the bastard who was passionate about everything.

John spared him one glance before returning to his work with the radio. He repeated Joseph’s name again and again until he made it through all of the channels twice.

Grant crossed to the other side of the room and sat down on the floor. The radio situation had been the same since day one, but they had risked trying to repair it and tightening certain wires to no avail, so hope that the problem was on their eve had dwindled down to nothing. Grant has started to wonder if one fear had come to pass and they _were_ entirely alone a matter of days ago. But judging by John’s absolutely lost look, he had started to wonder a while before he did.

After a few more minutes, John shut off the radio. He stood up, then made his way over to the wall Grant was on. He sat beside him so their knees bumped. It looked initially accidental, and the second they made contact John drew his knee back- but moved it back a second later.

Grant didn’t have the heart to pull away, either.

John lifted his hands, just to have something to look at. “I think my family’s dead…” he murmured, equal parts guarded and raw.

Grant stared at him for a while, torn. John and his siblings had put him through a lot- too much. Mental pain was the least the man deserved. He had already put John through losing Jacob, but that had been personal. This- the end of the world, what wasn’t entirely under his control, what he had no say in- what he was sharing with the man- could he be so cruel as to want it for him? He exhaled sharply. No wonder he hadn't lasted playing the song where loved ones seeing each other again. There was no point in starting trouble again. _Just be honest._ “Yeah. I think my people are dead too.”

“My brother might have been wrong,” John added after a while. “What the fuck do we do?”

“We survive. For them. Or, considering our little moment in there, I survive for my people, and you survive to spite me.”

“Fine. And I’ll try to keep the Jacob talk to a minimu-”

“It wasn’t Jacob. No entirely, anyway. It was ‘purpose’,” Grant cut him off. “Just… don’t use that word. Ever.”

John eyed him briefly, apparently unsure about asking for clarification as to the logic behind the request or not. Instead, he leaned back again. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Grant agreed.

Silence passed. Their second agreement didn’t solve anything, and it only made for more questions for the both of them, but for then, it was enough.


	4. Drink, That's All You Can

_Grant learned quickly that his memory lapses from his early time in Jacob’s care was a blessing._

_After Jacob had found out they had the Army in common, he hadn’t left the man alone. It had been more extensive training at first- “you know, I thought you had a certain purpose. I was wrong. We’ll… save that for your other Deputy friend. You, hooo, boy. You are meant for far more than that.” He hadn’t a clue what the man was getting at, but the fact that it was a threat against Staci regardless set Grant off. Still, he had hatched a plan to stay quiet and look weak until Jacob let his guard down enough, then strike and kill the man with his bare hands._

_But of course, that just meant more training and more trials in the meantime. But they were spaced out- Jacob had let the man rest and recover. Which meant he remembered everything . Every busted knuckle, every streak of blood, every body sagging against him, every snapping neck- and the face of every single victim Jacob had him put down. The faces haunted him in the day, but the screams stayed with him at night and robbed him of any sleep. And when it wasn’t the screams keeping him up, Jacob’s disembodied voice did the trick- “good work” “perfect” “try harder” “You’re better than this”, “kill” “hunt” - Only You, Only You, Only You. It never ended._

_And then Jacob had put him in charge of training. “You’ve made it. Your kill count’s higher than anyone else- you’re one of us now, time to act like it”, like it was a medal of honor._

_He had refused at first, of course. Told Jacob just where he could shove his promotion._

_Jacob had sent Staci through five trials and starved the both of them for fifty five hours for that one._

_Grant wondered what the Hell the man’s point was, putting him through a prison regime that they were trained to avoid._

_It pained him, but Grant had agreed after that, knowing full well Jacob would have just done the same thing over again. He knew he could take it but Staci couldn’t, and he wouldn’t live with himself for throwing the man under the bus so hard._

_He had made the mistake of thinking Jacob would let up on either of them, though. When he wasn’t training new Chosen or new converts with weaponry and target practice, he was back in his own Trials and killing people he knew were innocent._

_He lost count after seventy three people._

_He had started to fade after that. He felt more machine than man, and apparently it showed. Jacob would continue to come by his cage and comment on his worsening health. “Gotta be a fighter, soldier. A survivor. I know you, you can do better than this. Come on now.”_

_Grant hadn’t even looked at him. He refused to give him the satisfaction._

_It went on like that for days. Do the trails. Do the training. Return to cage and just stare. After a while he had just about lost his will to live again. Being that low was almost as bad as living through his current conditions._

_He had started up a hunger strike for a while, full well knowing Jacob would probably pick up on it, but he didn’t care. Maybe another visit from Joseph would constitute just fucking letting him die._

_It took Jacob five days to catch on- or to decide to pretend to care. After Grant woke up in a cage after another trial, he had woken up in the dirt in the middle of the training grounds at the hotel-looking place._

_Jacob was sitting in front of him, looming over him and blocking out the sun. There were far too many metaphors he was going for there. The older man perked up upon seeing him awaken. He straightened out, then took a swig from his canteen before spitting it out. “I like you, Lyons. You don’t take much shit. But god damn, aren’t you tired ?”_

_Grant remained silent._

_“Ah. Still on the silent treatment thing. Cute,” Jacob deadpanned. He looked him up and down. “The hunger strike isn’t doing you any favors. You want to survive for your friends, right? For Hudson, Whitehorse, Burke? Pratt?” he looked over his shoulder, and Grant could just make Staci out from the corner of his eye, off and observing the whole thing._

_“I mean, I admire your style, but you’re looking more  animal than man now,” Jacob continued. He eyed him up and down. “Not a surprise, though…” he leaned back. “Ten days, that’s the usual going rate. You were close, but I respect you too much to let you go too far.”_

_Grant tried not to flinch. He really, really didn’t want another survival lesson from the prick._

_“You take away a man’s basic needs and he will revert to his primordial instincts in just ten days. It’s a difficult thing to understand unless you’ve lived it. Maybe you have, I don’t know…”_

_Grant didn’t like where this was going, even before the images of his friends dead in the street from that damned bomb flashed into his head. No, he might not have been starved, but he had a building collapse on him for hours after watching them all die. Every soldier had a fucking story, Jacob wasn’t special._

_Jacob pulled the other man up to a kneeling position. “I was in Iraq during the first Gulf War. Eighty-Second Airborne, All Americans, Hoo-Rah…” Jacob trailed off with a laugh._

_Grant realized he must not have been too careful in concealing too much on his face because he had been tuning him out until the Army call. Once he heard that, fresh hate had bubbled up in his chest and he felt his lip curl in disgust before he could stop himself._

_Jacob laughed harder. “Yeah. Me too. Anyway, one night, there was a… an ambush. Me and this guy Miller got separated from the unit…”_

_Grant froze at that. No, Miller was a common name. There was no way..._

_“No food, no radio. Nearest base, two hundred clicks to the south so we just started walking. By the third day I knew we were lost. Day six… ran out of water. On the seventh day, Miller’s legs started to get all wonky.”_

_Doubt curled into Grant’s gut. He remembered his Miller talking about losing his brother. There had been remnants of a body recovered with ‘shit gone funny in his muscles like he was walking for days.’ No. No. This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t have been his Miller’s little brother. But then it all came back to him. His Miller had mentioned the 82nd Airborne. He had mentioned seeing ‘some weird redhead dude that had been with himm’ at the funeral.’  His heart plummeted at the realization of just how small the world was. And just from his Miller’s stories, he knew where this was headed. And he hated himself for sympathizing with Jacob. But they had been missing for days. There had been an attack after that. ‘The redhead’ had survived the skirmish that his Miller’s brother hadn’t. Maybe ‘every soldier had a story’ was harsh. Because he had been through Hell but it was expected. Jacob and Miller had gone through Hell and back._

_Jacob had been talking the whole time, too caught up in the dramatics of it all, “and by the eighth day, the wolves were closing in. And I looked at Miller and I could tell we’re as good as dead. And I accepted that. And in that acceptance came… clarity.”_

_Wait, what?_

_“See, I wasn’t just looking at Miller. I was looking at an opportunity…”_

_No…. Grant finally looked up at him, heart beating faster and sinking all at once. No. No no no no. He let Jacob pull him to a standing position, too stunned to do anything else._

_“It wasn’t something I wanted. It was something I had to do. It was my test.”_

_Grant stared at him. He had talked about starving. It wasn’t something he ‘wanted’. He wasn’t suggesting…?_

_“You see, Miller’s sacrifice wasn’t about me walking out of that desert… it was about bringing me here.” He fished the music box out of his pocket._

_And just like that, the pieces clicked into place. Jacob had…. No . He couldn’t even bring himself to finish that. The point was that Jacob had killed Darren’s older brother. Had murdered him in an extremely fucked up way and then lied to superiors and a grieving family to cover his own ass.  He was the reason a family was short two sons. His actions had kicked off the very reason Darren Miller had joined the army due to a sense of familial responsibility. His actions had put him on the path that put him in that convoy. That put him in Grant’s care that had ended up getting him killed. His mere existence had been the thing that led to Grant watching the closest thing he had to a little brother bleed out in the fucking dirt.  If there was no Jacob, there would have been no Private Darren Miller._

_And the red that he saw had nothing to do with that damned music box._

_And with a roar of unbridled rage and energy that was from sheer adrenaline at that particular realization, Grant launched himself at Jacob. He took a perverse amount of pleasure in Jacob looking absolutely shell-shocked and alarmed in the second it took to cross the distance between them._

_They hit the ground hard and Grant had immediately landed as many punches as possible. He had the speed, but between the starvation, thirst and general weakness, he barely had the strength that he wanted in them._

_And then Jacob started laughing between the punches Grant had landed on his jaw. Once he felt Grant fading he reached up and grabbed the front of Grant’s shirt. “There you are…” he had mused with a grin that was pure evil. “Been waiting to meet the real you.”_

_Disgust quieted the bloodlust and Grant leaned back. Thankfully it only lasted a few seconds before he had landed two more punches- and then saw that in that pause, Jacob had managed to open the music box._

_Again, the rage quelled only long enough for him to wonder why the Hell he wasn’t just ‘Only You’ing out and killing him- until he realized he wasn’t hearing a damn thing. Probably the blood rushing through his ears._

_And then a perfectly clear gunshot rang out and pain bristled out from his shoulder blade. He turned around to see where the Hell it had come from and who the fuck had shot him before the song started seeping into his brain._

_The last thing he saw was a blur of black, tan and green. “Stace…?” he began, and then suddenly all was black._

* * *

 

Grant examined the scar from the bullet in the bathroom mirror. He had had a nightmare about that particular day the previous night and had been wandering aimlessly since. He had settled for trying to shower the feelings away which had brought him there. It was fitting that the physical scar from  that ordeal was the only thing that had mostly healed. He had stared at himself in the mirror for a while and realized he hadn’t looked so gruff since his time with Jacob, but at least he looked and was healthier than that. He made a mental note to find something he could use as a razor- and then hide in his room in case John decided to go mad again.

He had continued his walk after that until he came to the living quarters on the opposite side of the bunker. He was surprised to find John huddled up under a blanket on the couch, staring ahead at a small fire he had started in some sort of glass jar. It looked like he had burned some old papers of some sort.

It was so strangely _John_ that Grant would’ve laughed- had he not seen the absolutely distant look John had on his face, and the other man realized he probably wasn’t the only one who had a nightmare the previous night.

The flame caught Grant’s outline the right way to cast a shadow on the wall John was facing, and the younger man snapped out of his own haze. “What do you want, Deputy?”

Grant blanched. Well, that was rude. Even for him. “Just passing through. Don’t mind me,” he replied. He took a step to go down the next hallway.

John spoke again immediately. “Wait!”

Grant stopped and rolled his eyes before he turned around. “What?”

“Just… stay.” John’s request was disarmingly quiet and guarded.

“And why the Hell would I do that?” Grant asked after a moment.

“Because you and I might be the last two people on Earth and I’m not fucking drinking alone.”

Grant squinted at that- and then his face softened when John moved part of the blanket to show he had been nursing a bottle of… something. He scoffed. “Would Joseph approve of that?”

“I wanted my people to _live_ in my bunkers, not just survive. If we got a little sinful, so be it. We just had to be careful, and he wouldn’t know” John countered, then something dark crossed his face. “But he’s dead now, so what’s the fucking point in caring?”

 _Oh._ He was at that level of grief. He paused, then sighed and walked over to the couch. He waited a few seconds, then tentatively reached for the bottle and took it from John. His reflexes were a bit lax, so he wondered just how much the other man had had before he was interrupted. He gave the open bottle an experimental sniff- whiskey. He could manage that. He went to take a small swig, then decided against it and went for a longer pull.  If John was comfortable- or stupid enough to have enough to dull his reflexes, he was willing to get lost in it a bit, too. He justified it with a simple ‘you need it’ and that had been that.

They passed the bottle back and forth for a few silent minutes before Grant had finally started to feel it. Naturally, it was then that John finally spoke up.

“I don’t miss traffic…” John mused after a while.

Grant stared at him for a while and then couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his chest. “Where did that come from?”

John shrugged. “Been thinking a lot about what I miss a lot lately. Figured I might as well do the opposite. Might make everything hurt less…” he explained. Then, “... What about you?”

“You want me involved in this conversation?”

“Again, last two people on Earth, Deputy Lyons. Why the fuck not add a drinking game to the mix? It’s barely a game, just list the things and get drunk off our asses.”

Grant scoffed, then sighed. He had a point. Again. He sat down and considered an answer for a while.They stared passing the bottle back and forth, listing things they didn’t miss. Grant didn’t miss self-checkout kiosks at stores. John didn’t miss the ‘idiots who took pride in preferring flying over driving or vice versa and ‘were loud about it.’ Grant had laughed at that, and John had tried to look indignant before he caved and laughed too. Grant didn’t miss ‘hookup culture’- John had called him a damned coward.  They had gone on for a solid hour until they had both started to run out of ideas.

Grant surprised himself by being the one willing to go serious for a bit.  “You’re gonna fuckin’ hate me for this one, but politicians.” He didn’t want to sound like Joseph at any cost, but the man had a point about them.

“Huh. I expected ‘lawyers’,” John countered.

“Those too,” Grant added. “What’s your next one? People that make less than eighty grand a year salary?”

“How about people that make blind assumptions?” John shot back.

“Prove me wrong,” Grant challenged.

“I don’t miss my parents friends’ who pretended to give a shit about me once they were gone,” John said adamantly.

Grant opened his mouth and shut it. That was… _fair_ , if he was to believe what John had told him in his botched Confession. With friends like those…

“Cockroaches,” John murmured after a moment before he took another pull from the bottle. After a couple of seconds, he held it out to Grant.

Grant took it back carefully with a hum of acknowledgement. Well, if John was going to get that deep, he might as well offer his own. “I don’t miss the The U.S Fucking Army…” he listed.

John arched an eyebrow at him and settled in. “From what I understand, Jacob would’ve given the same response. But what is it with you and them?” he asked.

Grant sighed. What the fuck did he have to lose anymore? He pulled his shirt sleeve back to show the “To This We Defend’ tattoo. “They didn’t take their own words too seriously. Left me in the fucking dirt… _literally_.” He looked John’s way, half expecting him to be grinning like a predator at its prey, but maybe it was the booze in him that made him look… patient and interested. “I uh… I was in a bomb squad overseas. One day we got bad intel. Things went sideways in a mission, my squad and I got turned around after a shootout.  I took lead, something didn’t… feel right. Then I saw a mine all set up on the ground and went ahead to scout it, told my people to say put. Turns out it was fucking bait. It was a trap for us. The mine was a dummy. And it was so fucking obvious, and I walked right into it. Bunch of insurgents set of a bomb in the next building over. I got pinned, and… well, they used the confusion with the bombs as a distraction and gunned everybody down. Thought I was dead under the rubble so they just fucking left me.” He laughed bitterly and looked at John.

John, in turn, was looking at him with an expression that was disarmingly sympathetic.

Grant… wasn’t fond of the look on him. He forced himself to continue with a bitter laugh. “ I went home alone… no commendations for the boys, just… it was another death on their roster. They didn’t even go back for bodies because we ‘weren’t supposed to be there.’ Told the families that it was an accident with a bomb and they couldn’t recover the bodies instead.” He took another long pull from the bottle and was fairly surprised when John took it from him carefully one he stopped- and then set it behind his side of the couch for good measure. “I didn’t join your fucking family because I had people to live for. And because it turns out your fucking brother murdered the reason one of mine was there to die in the first place. I don’t owe it to myself. I owe it to my people. I owe it to Darren and Michael Miller. If that makes me _prideful_ , so fucking be it.”  The silence after that was deafening. And the anger from the story and the nightmare of reliving it all in seconds came back tenfold, and manifested in him realizing just how much he admitted to the last man who deserved to hear it. “So, that’s the Confession for the sin you gave me. Am I to Atone next?”  he took the bottle in a tighter grip and raised it to his mouth, only to have John take it back silently. He merely sent the man a disapproving look, and for once, John didn’t meet him with a matching look. He just kept looking like he was pitying him. He hadn’t the right. They locked eyes for a moment, and while John held his gaze, Grant looked away.

John was silent for a while. _Weary_. “Why the change of opinion?” he asked. “I’m not fond of doing this if it’s the whiskey talking.”

Grant shrugged. “Joseph was right. What’s stopping him or you from being anything else?” he asked.

“You’re still here, he called you the biggest sinner of them all and you made it this far- you're surviving to see Eden,” John suggested. "That’s a pretty fucking big contradiction.”

Grant shrugged. “If I have to Atone, so be it. It’ll get you off my back, anyway.”

“If that’s what you want,” John deadpanned.

“Why the fuck not,” Grant countered.

“Stay here.”

Grant watched him rise from the couch and disappear down the hallway. It was then that he realized just what he had just agreed to. But why the Hell was John not thrilled about it? Shit. Just what the Hell had he signed up for? He checked under the blanket for the bottle of whiskey for liquid courage- he wasn’t going to back down, after all. He was right, he wanted to get it over with so John would leave him the fuck alone. If all it costed was a scar, so be it.

The spot was empty.

John had taken it with him.

_Asshole._


	5. Chapter 5

_ Jacob had increased the frequency of how many times Grant had gone through the Trials tenfold after he had found out about Grant and his mutual connection. It was agony, considering the gunshot wound he was suffering through. Still, he had won every single time, but his ‘victory’ was just another tally on the list of lives he had taken in his time there.  _

_ But Jacob was thrilled. ‘You are strong. You might be the strongest we’ve had yet, Lyons. I like that about you.’ _

_ Grant had made it to his sixtieth victim when Jacob had stopped the Trials all together. He had been granted a couple of days of peace, a nicer mattress, actual food for meals- it was psychological warfare. Grant knew it, but he wasn’t proud enough to not take the bait for what it was. A meal was a meal, a bed was a bed, a homicidal tyrant was a homicidal tyrant.  _

_ It was a small mercy, but Grant’s entire body still ached from what happened with the Miller reveal. Fucking Hope County. Fucking Jacob. Fucking-  _

_ “...Grant?”  _

_ Grant went entirely rigid. Days ago, the voice might have been relieving. He would’ve laughed at it. But now? Not so much. “You shot me,” he accused.  _

_ “I had no choice!”  _

_ “You. Shot. Me!” Grant repeated.  _

_ “It was either that or he was going to kill you, Grant. I-”  _

_ “Is that what he’s telling you, Staci, because if you honestly believe that you’re a lot dumber than I thought you were,” Grant spat and turned towards his visitor.  _

_ Staci opened his mouth, then shut it firmly.  _

_ Grant shook his head. “If you and I had any hope of getting out of here, well, you proverbably shot that in the face, but considering that could’ve been literal for me, I guess that’s the silver lining!” he continued. “Tell me, Stace, did you really think that was gonna help us or did Jacob just signal you to shoot me? You really wanna be that asshole’s lapdog?”  _

_ “I’m surviving!” Staci protested. “The strong survive.”  _

_ Grant scoffed. There it was again. That propaganda. 'The weak have their purpose. The strong survive.' “He tell you that, too?”  _

_ There was the sound of gravel crunching under boots from somewhere behind them, and then the telltale beckon, “Peaches…”  _

_ Staci scrambled backward away from Grant’s cage at the mere first syllable from the  man’s mouth.  _

_ Grant’s gut turned with how much the bastard behind them had broken his friend. There was barely anything left.  _

_ Jacob eyed Staci for a moment, then looked at Grant. He pulled a set of keys from his belt and undid the cell door. “Lyons. Walk with me.”  _

_Lyons. He wasn’t ‘Deputy’ anymore. He was just ‘Lyons’ or the occasional ‘Sergeant’ because Jacob had somehow scrounged up his file. Fucking Nancy was probably responsible for that one. He looked at Staci, who merely nodded his head towards Jacob. _

_ Grant curled his lip, then followed Jacob.  _

_ Jacob led him around the compound inside the perimeter for a couple of rounds in silence. It wasn’t until the third pass that he finally spoke. “So tell me, Lyons. A career soldier like you, good looking, good health- what stopped you from carrying on? What possessed you to come to the middle of Bumblefuck, Montana?” _

_ “Because your precious country fucked me over. I left, I wanted peace and quiet, and look where that got me.” _

_ Jacob hummed. “Soldiers like us-“ _

_ “I’m nothing like you.” _

_ “Aren’t you?” Jacob asked. “Both of us gave ourselves for our country. Both of us had enough trauma to last ten lifetimes. We went to war as one man and came back another. If one at all.”  _

_ Fuck. “ What’s your point?” _

_ Jacob “My point is that we get each other, Lyons. We know what makes the other tick because we’ve been there. We know what it’s like to be strong. But you knew before all this.” He motioned around them. “I just made you use it the right way. But now that’s done. You’re done. You’re stronger than this. Than them. I could use someone like you but not as a soldier. As a commander. A leader. Where you belong.”  _

_ “Up til a few days ago you were adamant I was weak,” Grant pointed out.  _

_ “I’m man enough to admit I was wrong.”  _

_ Grant scoffed. “Somehow I doubt that.”  _

_ “It’s an offer, Lyons. Take it or leave it. I’m just saying there’s a light at the end of the tunnel and you’ve more than proven yourself-”  _

_ “And what happens to Pratt, then? You don’t strike me as the guy who would put two at the same level.”  _

_ Something glinted in Jacob’s eyes, but he made quick work of tampering it down and looking neutral again. “That's... to be decided. But Pratt’s weaker than I thought. Again, I was wrong. He’s got nothing on you.”  _

_ Grant snarled and advanced on him. “If you hurt him-”  _

_ Jacob laughed. “You do recall he shot you, correct? You’re so willing to die for the guy who would do anything for me, anything I told him to do. Whatever you two were back in the day, it means nothing now. He’s out for himself and himself only. You’ve got to be smart enough to notice that.” _

_ "Considering I got the last people who would do that for me killed, it's only fair," Grant coutered.  _

_ "Ah, right..." Jacob replied, though made it blatantly obvious he had made that point with that in mind.  _

_ Grant tried to keep his face neutral. Was this guy really trying that tactic? He looked around. Every single set of eyes- Peggie and prisoner alike were all glued to them. He looked back at Jacob. “I don’t actually have a choice, do I? This wasn’t about an offer. This was about them seeing me next to you. As your new second.”  _

_ Jacob's grin grew. "Smarter than I give you credit for.”  _

_ “And if I refuse?”  _

_ Jacob's smile faltered, but only for a moment. “Simple,” Jacob replied. He stepped a few paces back. “Considering we’re cut from the same cloth and I like you, Lyons, I’m gonna make this easy for you. You know, John’s got his whole ‘Yes’ schtick. Doesn’t take kindly to hearing no, but he’s got a soft spot for you, so you get away with everything. I love my brother, I stay clear of his things, but… Joseph’s ideals are a fair deal more important. So… I’m gonna do John’s approach, but done properly. Without bias.”  _

_ “And how’s that?” Grant countered.  _

_ “You tell me no…” in the blink of an eye, he had pulled a pistol from his belt, held it out towards one of the Whitetails’ cages and shot the prisoner in the head. When Grant inhaled sharply, Jacob leaned closer to him. “And one of your friends die for every. Single. Refusal. So refusing would not be advised. Unless you want more blood on your hands.”  _

_ The absolute evil smile that Jacob gave him made Grant realize he wasn’t talking about the blood spilled in the county. He knew about his squad. He really had dug all the dirt up. “You sick son of a bitch!” Grant closed the distance between them, but Jacob was ready, and another moment later, Grant could feel the telltale point of a knife at his throat.  _

_ “Maybe. But that’s how we’re going to survive. You’re gonna have to learn that, Lyons,” Jacob replied. He let the knife drop, then slipped it back into its holster at his side. “If you don’t, well… you refuse again, maybe I’ll start with your little friend Pratt.” He turned away. “You’ve got half an hour to decide. You’re smart enough. You’ll make the right decis-”  _

_ “Yes,” Grant forced out. “I’ll do it.”  _

_Jacob stopped in his tracks and turned back around. “Can’t wait to tell Johnny how quick that one took. Excellent. Now… follow me.”_   
  


* * *

 

  
  


Grant sighed as he leaned back in the chair. Of course John had a chair that could pass as one you’d find in a medical facility in the bunker. Of course he had the kit ready to go. He wondered if John had one in each bunker just in case he ended up in one that wasn’t his, if he had trained others in cutting the sin out of people or tattooing them, or it was laying around for whatever Peggie he saw fit to mark and cleanse the sinners. 

When Grant had made his way into John’s room a few minutes after their last discussion, John had been surprised it was just to seek him out and not go back on the offer. He had laughed it off when Grant had countered that he was making sure the man hadn’t downed the rest of the whiskey they had been nursing together. John had showed him the bottle, visibly untouched since he had taken it, and that had been that. 

A few minutes later, Grant had dropped into the chair and watched John set up. It was strange, being in the same situation again with him, but nearly everything was different. He was different. The world was different.  The stakes were different. Hell, even the way John approached him was different. There was no intimidation, no purpose in his step, no dramatics. He was just… walking. Hell, he had gone out of his way to sterilize the knife in front of Grant.

John twirled the knife in his fingers and moved closer. “Last chance to back out.” 

Grant scoffed. “You’re starting to worry me, here. I give you free reign and you keep asking if I’m certain. That’s not like you.” 

“I do recall getting a straight answer out of you was a test in and of itself. I’m just curious if I still have to deal with that stubborn head of yours.”

“Well, you got the last laugh. I think that evens things out.” 

“Good thing I’ve decided keeping score is useless,” John countered. 

“I’ll be damned, John Seed going against what Joseph says and coming to his own conclusions.” It was a dangerous jab, Grant realized a moment too late. To his relief, John merely narrowed his eyes at him.

That was, until something passed over John’s face. He went expressionless for a second, and then lowered the hand holding the knife.  “You’re right…” he mused after a while. 

Grant sighed. “Look, that was unfair. We’ve all done fucked up things in the name of someone else. I-” 

Just like last time, John threw the knife in the corner. He crossed to another table and retrieved a tattoo gun. He walked back over. 

Grant studied him. He hadn’t expected that, but he supposed another tattoo was better than getting skin cut off in the mother of all unsanitary environments.  “You have one of those just laying around?”

“Yes, one in each bunker. Though when I had them brought in, I figured we’d be mostly done with the marking our people by then.”

“Thought we got the marking over and done with.”

“So did I, but you, Deputy Lyons, are filled with surprises. Lean back.”

“Your chairside manner’s  better than the last time.”  He leaned back. “So why the change?”

“To be honest, I… your little comment made me realize that… I’m not with my brother anymore. I don’t have to abide by his… ideals.” He motioned at Grant to move back further. He crossed to the nearby sink, wet a sponge and crossed the room in order to wipe down Pride and Grant’s arm.

Grant did, and he inhaled sharply when John flicked the tool on.

“Relax. You’re in no danger now.”

“ _ Now _ ,” Grant repeated. 

John turned his attention back to Grant’s eyes. “I never wanted to be your enemy. I’m not a monster, despite what you and… so many others might think.”

Grant remained silent for that and pretended to miss the  _ insulted  _ look John got. “Have at it.”

“Ooh, I like this side of you Deputy. _ So compliant _ .”

“Not compliant. Just tired and have nothing to lose.” 

John scooted closer and finally set the gun to Grant’s skin.

After a few minutes of watching him work, Grant couldn't help but notice how John practically changed into another person when he did it. The last time he had been in too much of a panic about being caught unawares and under John with him looking like he was ready to murder him the last time. John already looked miles away, so deep in concentration. The most interesting thing, however, was that he looked the most at ease than Grant had ever seen him. He was almost attractive without any trace of madness on his face.

John paused, apparently sensing being watched. He looked up and the pair locked eyes. 

Grant was hardly one to get lost in a moment, but… something strange hung in the air for a while.  In the next moment, he realized he had been staring, and John had caught him. To his surprise, John didn’t say anything and went back to working. 

But that wasn’t the priority. The fact that John had been working for a few minutes and could’ve done anything to him- physically or with the tattoo. He still hadn’t checked his arm that John had started seconds ago and he’d have to crane his neck to see it. His chest on the other hand- well, John had probably passive aggressively drawn an X over Pride or something and started a new one directly over it. He looked down to investigate once John lifted the tattoo gun and swayed back to observe his work with a declaration of “done.” 

The dramatic bastard had drawn a sword through Pride, like if had been stabbed.  He let out a thoughtful hum before he could stop himself. 

“Expect sloppy work?” John asked.

“Or a dick.” 

John let out some sort of sound that vaguely resembled a laugh. 

Grant looked at the Army tattoo. John had etched over the words on the ribbon so it just looked colored in, put a globe behind it, and a man holding the globe over his head. “Atlas,” he realized. 

“The man with the weight of the world on his shoulders,” John confirmed. 

Grant looked at him, but John didn’t meet his eyes this time- seemed to be doing his damnedest not to. “Where do you go?” he asked after a moment.

“What?”

“When you tattoo. You were barely here. You weren’t there when you were doing the fist one of these, either,” he motioned at Pride. “You just looked… … different.” 

John glanced down at his arm- where Grant had grabbed him in the church. Right when Grant had pulled him out of that trance.

“Our first home. Joseph’s room, usually. It was… our little sanctuary when everything went wrong, before our parents decided they would enjoy putting us through Hell. It was our own little sanctuary. What about you?” 

Grant hummed. “My uncles’ place in Wyoming. Lived in the middle of nowhere in a little cabin. You went out on the porch, nothing but sky and mountains for miles.  That was ‘Big Sky Country.’ I uh… my parents were loaded. My father in politics, mother was a lawyer. Dad was running for mayor around the time I had my first boyfriend. They figured having a bi son in Texas would be a scandal, so they shipped me off to my uncles’ place-” when John made a grunt that was part disgust, part understanding, he shrugged. “Yeah, I mean… it could’ve been worse, but… it kind of felt like they were sweeping me under the rug like they always did. ‘Stick them with the gays in the family so he won’t be a problem’...” he trailed off. “... Turns out I ended up spending most of my life in that cabin and not at home.” 

John leaned back. “I spent so long trying to get information out of you, and the moment the world ends, you spill it all.” 

“It’s amazing what people will tell you when their lives aren’t being threatened.” 

John opened his mouth, then firmly shut it. He waited a while, then sighed. “Your uncles sound like good people…” John mused quietly. 

“They ar… _ were _ ,” Grant corrected, and his heart and stomach plummeted. If the bombs weren’t just local, if they had gone global, there was… a hair’s chance his uncles had made it. All that kindness, gone in a literal flash. 

“We’ll see them again,” John replied after a moment. 

“You’ll see yours too,” Grant assured him, then immediately regretted it. He was down a sibling because of him. That was quite possibly the worst thing he could’ve said. “Maybe literally for-” 

John waved him off “I know what you meant, but the recovery was cute.” 

Grant bristled at the comeback. 

John smirked, but it faded as quickly as the hopefulness had in Grant just now. “He was my brother, but the man unmade you, Deputy. Made you a weapon. That’s… nothing to take lightly. It’s… … I probably would’ve killed him too, on principle in your shoes.” 

“I thought you were only not fond of Faith’s methods,” Grant pointed out. 

“Because the first time you escaped neither of us knew just what Jacob had in store for you.” 

Grant paused. He wasn’t sure what to think about that. During his time at the Veteran Center, John had seen him several times. When the trainings first started. John had looked… neutral at best. Well, that was until he had shown up after… no, don’t even think about it.  The fact that there was suddenly the ghost of fingerprints on his shoulder blade- the only touch that resembled any kindness back then, given by the very man in front of him. “I was all of your pet projects,” he countered. 

“I wouldn’t have done  _ that _ . He just- you were a shell, you weren’t  _ you _ .” 

Grant's heart sunk. Was that for his benefit, or was John just bullshitting him to weave him further into his web. Had their entire nice conversation been a ploy? “Wouldn’t you have?”  Grant countered. 

“No!” John objected, nearly too quickly. “Grant, I was serious in the bunker. There’s- Jacob and Faith… …  I don’t… I never wanted to… for my converts,  it had to be their call. Even under duress. Hell, maybe that’s why Joseph wasn’t… thrilled with me. Because I gave them wiggle room. I gave  _ you _ too much wiggle room.” 

Grant perked up at that- more so because it was the first time John had used his actual name. He looked at John and found him staring back, and unlike when they looked at each other during the tattooing, John didn’t look away. It unsettled him something fierce. “That’s not how- you still forced it. You don’t expect me to believe that,” he forced out, even if it was to mostly level things out and stop what was bound to be the conversation that would keep him awake with his brain going haywire that night. 

“You don’t have to,” John countered, suddenly guarded again. He got to his feet carefully. “Cover those. Gauze is in the second drawer.” He left without a word. 

Grant stared at the door for a while, then sighed. He hadn’t expected that to work that well. Now he just had an extra few minutes to be alone with his thoughts, his absolute favorite thing.  “Great, Grant. Fuck that up, too, why don’t you?” he muttered to himself. He got off the chair and went into the drawer John had mentioned, got the gauze and tape and went to work bandaging the new editions. Part of him wondered if an infection would just make things interesting in his life, until he shook the thought out of his head. Life was already interesting enough now, even in a bunker. Shoddy health wasn’t going to make navigating the minefield that was talking to John any easier. And then it hit him that John had used his first name and tripped over his words. He had made the silver-tongued devil speechless in the face of an accusation. That was... not something to overlook either. He swore again and got to work covering the tattoos. Once that was in, he settled in for what was bound to be a long night. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_ Jacob was strangely accommodating with the new arrangement. Grant had been wrong about Staci’s status in the ranks. He was Jacob’s assistant in theory, but the younger man had far less authority than he thought. He was mostly just a runner for Jacob. He was more slave than lapdog, so Grant had felt guilty as all Hell. Especially when Jacob had tasked him with looking over the soldiers’ training time. Jacob had mocked him- ‘it’s a simple enough task, Lyons. You probably did it back home. Keep them in line, keep them on track… or another one of your little Resistance friends or Pratt dies. Understood?” Grant had snarled, but nodded after a while. The last thing he wanted more of was more blood on his name when he was already neck deep in it.  _

_ And so he trained the soldiers, but was careful to throw in things that could be overlooked as stupid mistakes in with the training. A couple of extra seconds in the ‘trick to reload your gun in the middle of combat’ here, teaching them to go after certain vantage points that gave them an advantage in battle in front of them while leaving their backs wide open for attack there.  _

_ Either Jacob was too busy and oblivious, or he knew and was biding his time to get revenge.  _

_ Once training was done for the day, Grant retired to the room Jacob had given him. It was basically a dorm, not unlike the hotel. But the walls were entirely concrete save for the barred window. And he had Pratt as a roommate. He knew Jacob didn’t do kindness without an ulterior motive, so Grant was suspicious and made sure to cut the wires in the nearby loudspeakers or radios. He knew Jacob would find out about that too.  _

_ “We need to get out of here, Rook…” Staci said one night, even after he was laying so still Grant had thought he was sleeping- or worse.  _

_ Grant had looked up. There was probably a hidden camera or audio around, so he held out his hand and went to the desk the pair of them shared. It was covered with scrap paper, the Only You posters and other information about other sorry bastards Jacob had caught in his snare. He took the scrap and the pen and motioned at Staci again before he dropped next to him on the bed and immediately started writing.  _

_**I know.** _

_ Staci, to his credit, immediately understood and looked embarrassed for a moment before he took the pen.  _

_ That supply truck that stops in front  **→ Valley. Track it. Get on roof when in the office.** _

_ Grant shook his head and took the pen again. Jacob’s too smart.  _

_ Staci only offered a confused look in return.  _

_ Grant wrote again.  **I don’t know. But I’ll think about it. You too.** _

_ Staci nodded, then looked up and mouthed ‘Hurry up. I can’t take it much longer.’  _

_ Grant sighed and gave Staci’s knee a reassuring squeeze. He took the note and tore it to bits, and then the bits to smaller bits. He crumpled a portion of the pieces and threw them in the corner then cast most of the rest out the window- and they thankfully landed in the fire drum a story down.  _

_ Grant looked back to see Staci staring up at the ceiling and looking absolutely lost. The younger man had exhaled sharply and turned his back to Grant, and Grant felt that old familiar feeling of failing someone creep up on his heartstrings and yank. He went back to his own bed and hoped for sleep that he knew wouldn’t come.  _

_ Days poured into weeks that all went the same way. Train. Overwork himself. Plan an escape attempt. Sleep. Repeat, with Jacob nodding his approval every so often from that pretentious balcony of his.  _

_ Before long, the truck idea started to look more and more likely. It was simple, and if they behaved, it could’ve gone off without a hitch.  _

_ Of course, things had never, ever gone to plan for him.  _

_ The night of the escape, the plan had gone off without a hitch. They had baited a fight between two of the Peggies, and it had come to blows. Grant had slipped between them and promptly gotten the shit beaten out of him. Staci had dragged him away, insisting on getting him ‘patched up.’ The Peggies had been far too wrapped up in ‘taking out the Deputy’ and more importantly ‘being stronger than The Deputy’ to pay much attention. So Staci had taken Grant’s arm and slung it over his shoulders, muttering about heading for the infirmary. The second the pair of them got into the building, Staci had let go of Grant and the pair of them moved double time straight passed the infirmary and up the stairs. They made it into Jacob’s office and headed for the balcony, and sure enough, the delivery truck was there.  _

_ Grant nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.” He leaned out the balcony, only to see Staci had frozen in place. “Stace? Come on, I know this is weird, I know this guy said you couldn’t do a lot but it’s all in your head.”  _

_ “No, that’s not…”  _

_ There was suddenly clapping from behind them.  _

_ Grant turned, but it wasn’t lost on him that Staci hadn’t moved a muscle.  _

_ Jacob looked back at him, leaning on the doorway and slow clapping at them. He stopped and whistled. “Goddamn, Lyons. I expected that baffling plan from Peaches. But you? Not your style. Thought you were smarter than that.” He tilted his head. “What was your plan? Just make a break for it? How far do you think you could’ve run, huh? There’s nothing for at least half a mile. And that’s a looooooooooooooong way with my hunters on your tail.”  _

_ Grant grimaced. Did he not know about the truck? No, why would he. He was the leader. He was above the grunt work. He shifted to the side so Jacob couldn’t see the moonlight glint off the truck.  _

_ The Herald shook his head. “Well, I’m disappointed. Not surprised. Which is why I had this place rigged for just such an occasion.”  _

_ “What the Hell does that mean?”  _

_ Jacob chuckled. “It means that only you were supposed to make it this far. Make it to Eli. Pass your test. But… if you thought you were the only one that I was going all out with, you’re wrong. And that’s mighty fucking arrogant, especially for you. You remember what I told you about classical conditioning? A picture, an image? Well, a frequency works just as well. And sometimes, if you do your job right and well… you have the right means… … it can be completely… undetectable to the human ear, but the sound is still out there in the world...”  _

_ Grant scowled again. “Enough of the Bond villain bullshit, Jacob. Just-” he stopped short when Jacob smirked and fiddled with his wolf whistle. The thing that humans couldn't hear. No. His eyes flicked to the speaker in the corner. They hadn’t made it to that one to turn it off. And the damn thing was crackling every so often. But how- who- and just like that, he immediately knew. He turned towards Staci. “Stace…?”  _

_ Staci was grimacing, apparently trying his damnedest to avoid so much as looking at him. “Grant…”  _

_ “Kill him,” Jacob cut in.  _

_ Grant went to turn back and launch himself at Jacob, but Staci was closer to Grant and quicker- and took Grant to the ground first with an enraged roar.  He could just make out the sound of the office doors shutting and locking from the outside before Staci started raining down blows on his face.  _

_ So this was how it ended. Not in that warzone, but in a dingy little office in the middle of a different sort of war with unfair circumstances. His head slammed back against the tile floor when Staci delivered the worst punch yet. Christ, he remembered when Staci could barely put him through any pain when they trained in the gym together. This- this was something else. “Stace!” he forced out between punches. “Stace, stay with me!” He didn’t know what prompted that. Hell, he almost wanted for Staci to stay under so he wouldn’t experience beating his friend to death. So they wouldn’t have a common burden. But if not… He locked a leg around one of Staci’s and flipped him. He tried to keep him still as much as possible. “Stace, if you’re still in there, it’s okay,” he pointed out between another punch. “There was no way we were getting out of here alive anyway, I made my peace with death a long time ago.”He cringed when Staci kept trying to claw at him then flipped them over. “It’s okay. If I die, I die.”  _

_ Staci yelled out at that, and in a matter of seconds, his punches had gotten weaker and weaker until they had stopped at Grant’s chest.  _

_ Grant had been so caught up in hearing nothing but his blood pounding in his ears that it took him a moment to realize Staci had started sobbing.  _

_ “Can’t be me. Has to be you. You have to be the one…” Staci murmured between sobs as he all but sagged against Grant. “You’re stronger. Has to be you. I’m done, man. Just kill me… saves Jacob the trouble… I’m so, so tired.”  _

_ Now that had gotten Grant’s attention. “No. No, you’re not done, Stace. Fuck you if you think I’m gonna let that happen.”  _

_ Staci squinted. “Wh-”  _

_ Grant hauled him to his feet and pulled him towards the balcony.  “You’re right. I’m stronger. But I’ve put up with a lot of shit over the years. And you haven’t… and that’s why we have to do this.” He maneuvered Staci against the edge of the railing. “Stay safe, Stace…”  _

_ To his credit, Staci realized what Grant was doing just before he wet over the rail. “Grant, no, not without-” but Grant had already shoved him, and he fell down and landed on the truck, first and foremost the driver, who had been leaning against the truck, just beside the door apparently to get some fresh air. _

_ There were shouts of alarm from all around. Grant turned back to Jacob’s desk. He recalled seeing a pistol in the drawer once when it was his turn to be errand boy. He stopped short when he saw it was on top of the desk. That was too easy. Sicking Pratt on him with a gun feet away? Jacob had to have known. But for how long? He shook his head. Not important. He brought it back with him, aimed a foot away from the driver’s legs and fired.  _

_ The driver panicked, all but threw himself into the truck, gunned the engine and sped off.  _

_ Grant sighed and watched the truck speed off into the night. There. Staci had just been granted a bigger chance at survival. He was safe. For now. The trick was keeping it that way for as long as he could. And that meant…  _

_ As if on queue, the door to the office swung open and Jacob stepped in, looking far too pleased - until he saw the apparent victor of the fight. _

_ Grant huffed and stepped aside so he could see the truck clearing the second hill away from the center.  _

_ Jacob looked from him and the truck back before he yanked the radio off his hip.And for the second time in months, Grant found himself tackling Jacob to the ground. He knew he was going to be lucky if he survived this bout, but he needed to give Staci more time. And he’d get it if the Peggies continued to flounder without Jacob telling them what to do immediately.  _

_ As expected, Jacob got the upper hand within seconds and took him down to the ground, landing far harder punches on him than Staci had.  _

_ “You. Ungrateful.  Little. Shit . Think you can be the hero? You already failed the people that really needed you, what’s the point of trying again? You’ll just fail.”  _

_ “Really? ‘Cause that looks like a success to me,” Grant breathed.  _

_ Jacob merely scowled at him. “You… have no idea what you’re in for now,” he promised before he took that damned rifle of his and slammed it into Grant's face, and the latter's world went dark.  _

 

* * *

 

Grant stilled in front of the radio room door. God damn it man, just swallow your pride and go fucking apologize. Huh. Pride. Well, that was something. He raised his fist to knock on the door, and then paused, then sighed and knocked. He waited for a few moments and got no response. Great, he had really fucked up.  “John, you in there? Come on, we need to talk," he pointed out. When there was no response again, he pinched the bridge of his nose.  "Please?" 

The door immediately opened, and John frowned at him. “Ah, Deputy. Come to put more words in my mouth?” 

“Came to apologize, actually.” 

“Oh, this will be good.”

“John. Please.” 

John studied his pleading look for a moment then set his jaw. After a few seconds, his arrogant look was back. “What more can you say? I’m trying to be kinder for your sake, Deputy. I’m trying to show you that I understand you. That I don’t want the past to taint us. But you can’t do that, can you? We’ve already been over this. But still you persist. Such easy judgement with so little knowledge of the beast you set out to slaughter.” He went to slam the door in Grant’s face. 

The older man was quicker. He slammed his hand against it and wedged his toe at the bottom for good measure. “If you’re a beast, I’m not far behind.” He sighed. 

“The hypocrite sees the light,” John mused. He took a couple of steps back in order to let Grant in all the same. 

Grant sighed and stepped into the room. 

John returned to his spot by the radio and turned down the volume from the static. He faced Grant again. “I’m listening.” 

_ Dick.  _ Grant ran a hand through his hair carefully. It was in that moment that he realized how long it was getting. He guessed that was what happened when you were down in a bunker for months and lost track of time passing. “I’m just…  it’s… … after everything, you still found it in you to save me from…  _ that _ up there. I killed your brother and you still looked me in the face and apparently saw something worth saving even when I didn’t  and-” 

“ ‘Didn’t’?” John repeated, and there was an odd little hopefulness in his tone that Grant didn’t know how to process. 

Not important right now. “Let me finish.”  When John’s mouth shut and his look of hope changed to one of annoyance, he figured balance was restored. “I’m not good with people. Haven’t been since I got home, and… here you are trying, and it’s a new world out there and the… rules don’t apply anymore and I am a hypocrite for judging you on… things…  well, you and your family made me do, but still. But I have no right after everything. So I’m sorry.... … … and thank you. For saving me from the Collapse. I… … forgot I owed you that, too.” 

John smirked. “Was that painful?” 

Grant shrugged. “Not as bad as I thought it would be. You ever consider that letting the people come to you might’ve been more effective than tattooing them then cutting the skin off?” 

“Considering the way I saw it, mine was still the least painful. It kept you whole for the most part and allowed for recovery. It was just… pain and learning to conquer it. Not just… losing your mind or… … your humanity or dying,” John replied. 

Grant raised his eyebrows. “ ‘Losing your humanity or dying’- that’s a Hell of a lot of difference since the last time you compared them.” 

John sighed. “Yeah, well, the first time I really saw what it does to people it was you and…  _ you weren’t _ you. You were a shell, you might as well have been dead, you-” he trailed off, looking positively haunted. 

“Wasn’t Wrath?” Grant supplied. He remembered very few things from that day. He remembered John’s face when he first saw him, the man’s touch on his shoulder, his tone of voice when he asked what the Hell was going on. John had kept calling him Wrath that night, like it was some sort of anchor. But now with that statement, he wasn’t sure if it had been an anchor meant for him or John himself. 

“Exactly.”  John had answered the question too quickly for Grant’s liking, but it was another thing that he probably needed to file away to overthink later. 

“ Means I lost the fight. You won. Well, you had won for a time.  Thought you would’ve wanted that.”

“Not me. Never me.” 

 “And why is that?” 

John stepped closer to him, then prodded his chest with his pointer finger. “Because as infuriating as you made my life, I started to like the Wrath in you, Deputy. I liked not being alone in my sin. Forgive the cliche but you complete me. And I’m hardly one to ignore that.” 

Grant scoffed. “Beats the Hell out of me wh-” 

John surged up and kissed him before he could continue. 

Grant froze in place, stunned, and it allowed John to cup the back of his head and pull him closer. Sure, there had been the rumors that John had been… interested, the pair of them had glossed over preferences in their conversations, but that particular response still came as a shock.   Grant opened his mouth to protest, to himself or John he wasn’t sure. Then again, why bother? This was probably inevitable the way they were. The last two people in the world, preference in a partner in common, weird tension between them since day one. When John pulled back he surprised himself by chasing his mouth for a moment until he caught himself. 

John stopped to look him in the eye, and it might as well have been game over. 

He owed himself shutting down his brain for a while. He had survived too long, been through too much. Grant wasn’t blind, John was attractive, just skimming the line of his type, and there were probably far worse people he could’ve gotten stuck with. He leaned forward and took hold of John’s shirt briefly. 

John, not at all having expected things to go that smoothly, took that as an invitation and pulled him back into another kiss and stepped back to accomodate Grant in his spce.   He bumped the desk behind him and scooted up to get into it and pulled Grant down with him- 

And then from below them the static from the radio that had just become distant white noise rose in volume and suddenly there was the sound of what was probably a news report from the day of the Collapse. 

Both men immediately tore away from each other as the newcaster went on about varying reports of bombs going off in major cities. Well, that had answered that. But there was another question that needed answering. 

“What did you do?” Grant asked as John untangled his legs from the other man’s and practically launched himself to the front of the table to face the radio. 

“I’ve got no idea,” John replied. He glanced at the wires in the back and went a bit red. “Must’ve bumped something the right way?” he suggested. When Grant offered a sideways glance at him, he rolled his eyes. “The wires. You ever have that thing where headphones only work if you have the wire bent the wrong way?” 

“You mean you tried to fix them instead of just throwing them out and replacing them with ones that cost double?” 

John shot him a warning look, then yanked Grant down into the second chair and went to turn the dial. 

Grant would’ve stopped him so they could hear what the newscaster had said until he realized there was no point in hearing anything else. They had been down there for months, really the only relevant information that it was apparently nationwide at least. “Somebody’s got to have gotten some word out…” 

“Exactly,” John agreed. “Listen for your people, I’ll listen for mine.” 

Most of the stations were either static or a repetition of the news, or a song. Both of them were starting to lose hope until John switched to another station and a clear, tired but familiar voice filled the room:

“  _ -l Whitehorse of the Hope County Police Department. If there’s anybody out there, we’ve survived. There’s about ten of us in the prison. Get back to us soon. We… need to know we ain’t the only ones left _ .” 

Grant closed his eyes and let out a sigh so heavy his shoulders dropped. Earl was alive. There was an equal chance none of his other people were there with him, but at least one of his crew were safe and alive- provided the recording wasn’t too old. He hadn’t failed one. That was better than before. He looked over at John, who had his fingers hovering over the dial, looking uncertain. “Go on. He’s on frequency fifteen. We can remember that one. Let’s see if any of yours are okay.” 

It was John’s  turn to sigh in relief. He kept turning the dial. The pattern kept up. Static, static, news, music - a random person from somewhere in the Henbane, static, static- a group of Peggies in one of John’s other bunkers. They weren’t the last two on Earth after all. 

The second John had heard ‘the Project’ come from the second person’s mouth  he had leaned back and covered his face with his hands, clearly overcome with some emotion that didn’t know how to manifest itself quite yet. 

Grant reached over and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

John let one hand drop in order to peek over his shoulder and smiled weakly, then stood to face the other side of the room. Grant rose with him. And then the emotion had decided to manifest itself- but naturally considering it was John, it went the way Grant wouldn’t have expected. John had laughed- light and giggly and so unlike him that Grant had also laughed. And then John had practically sagged against Grant, still laughing but clearly drained already, and the pair ended up in some odd version of a hug, repeating some variation of ‘we’re not alone’ every so often, past and bad blood between them forgotten. John practically pried himself away from the man once silence had passed, and went back to the radio and kept turning the dial. 

Grant’s ears perked up once something caught his ear on one of the frequencies, and then John kept going. “Wait, no, go back, there was something.”

John arched an eyebrow, but turned the dial back. 

And then Grant realized just why he had picked up on it. Why his head had given a telltale throb, and  just like that, Grant regretted catching it in the first place as that damned song filled the room. 

 

**_Only you… Can make all this world seem right_ _  
_ _Only you can make the darkness bright..._ **

 

John’s smile faltered a bit, watching the other man rock back and forth on his feet. “Grant?” 

Grant inhaled sharply, fighting against the pull of that cursed melody coming from the newly working radio. That was the worst of it. It was their only connection to the outside world. He couldn’t break the radio and be done with with the conditioning. And if he knew John was there, he’d stop at nothing to get to him. And they were in closed quarters with no place to go. He’d- **_Kill. Hunt. Sacrifice_** _.  NO._ He gripped John by the shirt and launched him out of the room threw him from the room. He slammed the radio room door shut and backed up. When John went to follow him, he held his hand out.  “John…” he growled, just as his vision started going red. “ _Run.”_


End file.
